Sloan
by Amnesie
Summary: Series of Mark drabbles, fairly angsty so far just bc I'm dark and twisty too. The last one is a postep for Desire
1. Stormy Seas

Between the losing battles and crashes and burns, there is one point in a man's life when he feels on top of the world. He could remember his distinctly.

She'd chosen him. For one period in time he hadn't been second best. He hadn't been the outsider looking in. He'd been the one. She might have been at her breaking point, but he knew that Addison Montgomery didn't choose just anyone. And in that one moment, in that one fateful night that she first surrendered herself to him, she'd sought him out. He was _her_ refuge, unlike all of those nights in the past when he'd been smashed or dejected, a despondent shattered soul, and it was thoughts of her that had kept him from sinking into utter despair.

She may have been his best friend's wife, but she'd been his one source of hope, his compass when he'd strayed too far off course. She'd been his weakness and his harbor away from the stormy seas-- and in that one moment he'd been hers.


	2. Sloan

They always referred to him as Sloan. He should have been okay with that. It was his name, after all. But there were times when he wanted most to just slam his fist down on a counter and shout that he had a first name too. But he knew it wouldn't have made a difference. Because, when you got down to the core of the matter, he was Sloan.

To call someone by their given name requires a degree of familiarity-- and he was careful not to give that closeness to just anyone. He wasn't sure if he could should he bother to try. He wasn't that man. He wasn't Mark. When his mother had chosen that name for him, she hadn't expected he'd turn out as screwed up as he did. Marks were good guys. They were dependable and steadfast and pleasant. They didn't cheat or betray their best friends. They loved. And he would bet that they were loved in return.

He wasn't Mark. He was Sloan. The devil incarnate in navy blue scrubs. He seduced and abandoned. He was wild and wicked and wholly uncontrollable. Sloans were men who had their name spit back at them in rage or disgust. It defined him as no other name could.

Mark? What a laugh. He'd never be him. He'd never be the man he was supposed to have been.


	3. The Family

Did they know how luck they were?

Through all the drama-- the ill-fated romances, the dying patients, the fights, the squabbles, the nights of reckless sex-- they had each other. They were misguided, foolhardy, and utterly impulsive, but at the end of the day, it didn't matter. They knew what unconditional acceptance was, and although it seemed at times as if the group was fracturing or losing a member, it never would.

They didn't mind that sometimes one of their own lost his or her way. They were okay with bruised and damaged souls, because they'd all been there. Each one was thoroughly screwed up. Truthfully, he should fit right in.

Bu they were a family-- and that meant that he was not one of them. Not because they'd denied him, but because he'd denied himself. He didn't do families. He'd had one of those once and he'd ruined it by just being himself. He'd had a brother and only he was to blame for the fact that he didn't any longer.


	4. Loving Her

She had been worth it. Sixty days of no sex and she _had_ been worth it. But they weren't together. Evidently providence was not going to allow it.

He had spent sixty days of abstinence suffering, tortured by thoughts of her, alluring and sexy, a redheaded temptress, and by memories of them together, uninhibited and scorching hot. He'd spent two months always just one minute away from seizing her and showing her how much he craved her; how much she possessed him.

It had been in vain. Sixty days later and he still could not have her. She had moved on. And as much as he ached for her body, he ached for _her_ more. He'd been so focused on remembering their many nights of passionate, mind-blowing sex that somewhere along the way he'd forgotten that he loved her. In his own way, he'd given her his heart. Her independence, the feminine vulnerability that she tried to keep hidden, her warm sincerity, the way she had always championed him… he'd loved it all. She'd transformed him. His months of self-discipline might have been in vain, but loving her had not.

And maybe she could move on, but he was stuck in place. She'd been his life for the past year. By caring for her as he truly did, he'd blown away everyone's expectations, his included. Surprise, surprise. Mark Sloan truly was capable of feeling.

But it begged the question: He'd loved once, could he find it in himself to love again? Or had he used all the love that a man like him would be granted in a lifetime?


	5. Sloan for Chief

Sloan for Chief. He wanted to grin at that thought of that phrase. It was like a campaign slogan. He had to admit that he had the sly charm of a politician and the infidelities to go with, though granted his would be a little too notorious for societal tolerance should he ever run for public office.

But…he was charismatic. He had that going for him. He was also intelligent, considering he had passed through med school with flying colors (not that anyone would believe that). He was also honest to a fault. He was resourceful and inventive. He looked damn good in a suit.

He wanted to be the Chief of Surgery at Seattle Grace Hospital. He thought he was a good candidate… or at least no worse than the others.

In truth, he wanted a reason to stay. Though his first impression of Seattle had been dismal, it'd grown on him. He thought he'd found a niche. A place to call home.

Why? How did he know Seattle was the place? The answer is simple- Because at this moment Mark Sloan was listing his own good qualities… and for a man so filled with torment and anguish that was a miracle in itself.


	6. Broken

He told himself that he didn't have a fair reason to be angry with her for buying his lie so easily. His celibacy, his commitment as a whole, was as much a surprise to him as anyone. He'd set a precedent, one he'd hoped would be the start of something great. How could she have known he'd do something so unfounded if he couldn't predict its occurrence either? He'd given her no prior reason to believe he was capable of commitment, but rather so many reasons to prove he wasn't.

But, unfortunately, just because his mind could rationalize away her acceptance of his falsity, his heart wasn't automatically going to go along with it.

No, he was pretty sure his heart was broken. For the first time in his life, he knew what it felt like to be dumped, to be truly and thoroughly exploited and discarded like trash. He'd given unconditionally and had been met with less in return. It was a disheartening realization that he was to take away from the experience: the knowledge that he was vulnerable. He might be ostensibly invincible in some areas of his life, but in relation to her?

Weak. Defenseless. A failure.

It's called a break-up not only because the relationship is broken, but because... in the end… you are.


End file.
